One Moonlit Night - 18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

“This is pretty pathetic when the best travel song you guys can come up with is The Ants Go Marchin’,” Scotty said as we made our way back to Cleona. Of course, that only spurred us on to sing several more stanzas and louder. Scotty clasped his hands over his ears and shook his head as if saying, ‘what did I do to deserve this torture?’ Arriving home, I helped Scotty take his belongings to his room and asked if he was coming over to spend the night at my house.

“Well, I might be persuaded,” he said seductively. “You’re not going to sing She’ll be Comin’ Round the Mountain or The Ants Go Marchin’, which I did not know had forty three verses, are you?”

“No, singing—I promise, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make other beautiful music together,” I said raising my eyebrow.

“The sound of instruments being blown, I like,” he said with a smile. “Let me get my stuff put away, visit with Mom and Dad, and check for any messages, and then I’ll be over. Oh, and Bash.”

“Yeah, babe?”

“If I haven’t told you, that was a most fantastic anniversary. It was perfect and so romantic. Even with the flat and off-key music repertoire on the way home. See you in a bit,” he said.

We kissed and I went home to tell my mom all about our trip.

“Well, I’m so glad you had a nice time, honey,” Mom said after I had told her of our stay at The Shanty By the Sea Inn. “Junior called and said you drove most of the way and you did very well. Which reminds me; I have turned the title to the car over to you, and added you to my insurance. So, can I borrow ‘your’ car for the next couple of days? The one I bought will not be delivered for another two days.”

“You ordered a car? They didn’t have one on the lot you wanted?”

“No, they didn’t. I couldn’t believe the one I wanted didn’t come with a manual transmission and a tape player, and you know how I love to play my tapes.”

“Well, if you promise to drive carefully and are home at a decent hour, I’m sure I can see my way clear for you to borrow the car,” I teased.

There was a rap on the door and Scotty came bounding into the house, went up to my mother, hugged and gave her kiss, and started rattling off all about our trip. Mom sat there, though having heard it all before and patiently listened as my boyfriend excitedly recounted our journey.

***[ ]***

I impatiently waited as Scotty picked through every rack of clothing, occasionally lifting a garment up, I guess to see how the light hit it—never did understand why he did that. “What do you think of this?” he’d ask as he held the shirt against his chest.

I’d shrug my shoulders, “It’s okay, I guess. I don’t know why you ask me anyway, because if I say I like it, you look at me as if I just said; a gourmet treat is marshmallow and eggplant sandwiches.”

“Well, I know if you say you like it then I should immediately put it back,” he said jabbing my arm. “I’m teasing you. You do have your rare moments of fashion sense,” he said, as he returned the shirt he asked me about to the rack.

“Can you believe the prices of these clothes?” I said with disbelief. “There isn’t enough material here to warrant that price,” I complained. “Not unless the sheep stood here in front of me and made it themselves.”

“Oh, Bash, quit your griping. We’re in the ‘90’s; that, and now you have to pay for a portion of your stuff,” Scotty replied.

“Yeah, it was much more fun when it was someone else’s money,” I responded.

I couldn’t believe it. Summer was gone and Scotty and I were soon to be headed back to school. That night, as Scotty was lying on top of me and I was lightly brushing my fingertips over his smooth body, we were discussing our going to college. Scotty, of course, would continue to pursue studies in music, leaning now toward a career in musical therapy. Because of his talent he would always be sought after to perform concerts and he did love doing that, but wanted to do something more, as he put it, to benefit humankind. I wished I was as certain as to what I wanted to be when I grew up. I vacillated between teaching English, practicing law, and also was drawn to psychology. Scotty said he always thought I would try to make a career of professional baseball. I stated I thought the chances were slim; that of all the thousands of talented people vying for a career in professional sports, I didn’t have much of a chance. I left the possibility open, however, but stated I needed to have something to fall back on in the event that never happened. Also, I reminded him, it only takes one injury to end a career in baseball. Scotty agreed and said he thought I would make a great teacher, and pointed out as an example my assisting Bobby Arnold and others on the wrestling team and all the tutoring I did.

After many discussions, Scotty and I both agreed on one thing when it came to our choice of colleges, we would attend the same one. When the subject first arose, I told Scotty, I didn’t think that was fair for him, as he could almost name the college he could attend. He would just give me this smile and tell me, maybe so, but he didn’t want to be without me. Of course, it was great that he felt that way, but also didn’t want to be the one to possibly hold him back. He said because of my scholastic and sports abilities that I probably could name my own ticket too. Scotty remained very adamant about our attending the same university, so we came to an agreement. I also knew I would be unhappy not being with him. Another of my unexpressed concerns was being too far away from my mom, but my psychic boyfriend knew that and never mentioned attending a university beyond a state in either direction. We had discussed the possibility of taking a year off before attending college. More fodder for more conversations.

My senior year held great expectations of excitement. Sport-wise, I was certain I could retain my State Wrestling title. Scholastically, I felt I would do well and maintain my honor roll status. Also, there was the Senior Prom and other parties to attend. It also meant the ending of many things; childhood to adulthood; dependence to more independence; less responsibility to more. Also, friends would be moving on and one did not know if those friendships could or would be sustained. Scotty and I often mused about the invisible line we were on a path to cross. We felt fortunate in that we had each other and would be crossing it together.

***[ ]***

School was back in session, the first day spent mostly getting readjusted after a summer full of activities, sharing these amongst classmates, and meeting new faces.

One evening after wrestling practice, one of the new kids to the team, Brad, Bradley Toller III—that is—and I were sitting outside at a table. I was waiting for Scotty to finish with a tutoring lesson and then he and I, along with Chris and Bobby, were going to grab a bite to eat at Millie’s Coffee Hut. Brad and I were having a get-to-know-you session. Brad had an air of self-confidence mixed with a snobbishness and aloofness. It was obvious that Brad was bright. He related one of his interests was playing the piano. As we were gabbing away, Brad looked beyond me and made a perceptible groan, “Oh, shit, get a load of the little fag coming our way. I certainly hope he doesn’t come over here.”

I turned and there was my sweet lover coming toward us. My immediate impulse was to maliciously strike out at Brad, but Scotty and I had many a discussion, along with Uncle Phil and my mom, about the eventuality of someone making derisive remarks about homosexuality. Scotty and I were not ready to be ‘out’ yet, so we remained cool when someone made unkind remarks. However, we didn’t remain silent and would express our shock that in order for someone to feel better about themselves, they had to belittle or make fun of someone who appeared different. You just might want to get to know them before you make snap judgments we’d argue. If they didn’t back-pedal, it usually at least shut them up. I did let Brad know that Scotty was a great guy; smart, talented, and he had a good heart, also adding that he was my best friend. I got the sense that Brad could care less, or wasn’t paying attention to my remarks.

“Hi, Bash, God I’m glad today is over,” he said while plopping himself beside me. “Oh, hi, uh…?”

“Oh, Scotty, this is Brad. He’s new here and is also on the wrestling team,” I said. “He also plays piano,” I added thinking it would be an ice-breaker, and then additionally added for Brad’s benefit that Scotty also played.

“Hi Brad,” Scotty said standing to reach over and shake Brad’s hand. “Nice to meet you and welcome to Cleona High. What kind of music do you like to play?”

“Well, probably not a genre of music with which you’d be too familiar,” he snobbishly responded. “I’m into classical music, and I’m quite good.”

Uh oh, I could see the little Machiavellian cogs turning in my devious little lover’s mind. I’m sure he would have played this to the hilt if we hadn’t been interrupted by Bobby and Chris.

“Hey, Scott, how’s it going?” Bobby inquired. Addressing himself to Brad he said, “I’ve seen you at practice. Your name’s Brad, right? I’m Robert, but most people call me Bobby, and this is Chris.”

After the introductions were completed, we excused ourselves from Brad, bid him a good night, and said we had to get going. Scotty, smiling devilishly said that maybe someday we would get to hear him play and perhaps he’d give him some pointers. That remark seemed to puff up Brad’s ego a bit. He smiled and said, “Sure anything to help a fellow musician.”

Walking over to Millie’s, Bobby asked Scotty what that was all about, and why would he need pointers on how to play the piano. Scotty briefly explained their conversation. Bobby said, “Well, is he gonna’ be knocked on his stuck-up ass tomorrow, huh?”

Occasionally the school districts had ‘appreciation for the arts’ programs. I think mainly in order to placate those who had objections to those classes constantly being cut from the curriculum. The reason was always for fiscal concerns, which would have been acceptable if not for the fact there was ample money available for sports programs. This rankled many. Therefore, the school district would schedule these art appreciation assemblies. Our school district was fortunate to have a Scott Tucker. When Mr. Perino, the music teacher, approached him about having a classical music program, Scotty happily agreed to do it. He was one of the rankled. The next day, Scotty would be performing and explaining classical music, along with discussing composers and some history surrounding the pieces he would play. He would conclude the program by bringing it around to the music of the day, relating how classical music has influenced today’s musicians. He put a lot of time and effort into creating this program. I knew the students would like it, though for the most part, we liked the assemblies as it got us out of class work. Shallow is the mind of a teenager.

We had a pleasant time at Millie’s, and Chris said he was going to finally take the plunge and tell his mom that he was gay. He was very nervous, but related that he was tired of his parents asking why he wasn’t dating, and he was running out of excuses to tell them. He was thinking his admission to his mother would stifle the incessant questioning, or would at least enlist her support to run interference. He still didn’t want his father to know, however. He just couldn’t see him accepting it; not yet anyway.

***[ ]***

We were all in our seats in the assembly hall and Bobby, Chris and I made sure we sat with Bradley Toller, III. Brad turned to me and said, “Now this guy knows how to play the piano. Did you know he’s one of the youngest people to win the Van Cliburn Award? Hell, he was composing major pieces of music when he was 12 and 13 years old. I even have one of his CD’s. I wonder if I could get him to autograph it for me,” he added. “Too bad your friend from yesterday isn’t here. He just might learn something.”

The three of us were doing our utmost to maintain our serious demeanors, by just agreeing or adding ‘you don’t say.’ I assured him that ‘my friend from yesterday’ would definitely be here. I had to add, just for effect, “I bet this guy’s as queer as a three dollar bill though.”

Brad quietly responded, “Who cares, hell, for his talent, I might even suck a dick.”

It took all that we had not to burst uproariously into laughter. I, in my mind, was thinking of how much pleasure I was going to get as I dumped dirt into the grave he had dug for himself. Of course, Scotty wouldn’t approve, so I’d just have to keep my pleasure to myself. Damn!

The lights dimmed and Mr. Perino stepped onto the stage. “Principal Bentley, fellow faculty members, and students. Cleona High is very fortunate to be able to bring you today’s performance. More fortunately, we have one of our own, who has been kind and gracious enough to give of his time and talent to create and put on this musical learning experience. May we all have a rousing round of applause for our own, Scott Tucker.” The cutest tuxedo clad boy in the world strode confidently onto the stage. Of course, Scotty, well-known by many, received a standing round of applause, and of course decorum being thrown out the window being teenagers, whistles and cat-calls. Seeing the look on Brad’s face was priceless. He turned to me and I just smiled and said, “I think I can get you that autograph.”

I wanted to add, “Oh, by the way, Scotty said he was going to call you on stage, announcing you were going to give him some pointers on how to play.” But, Bradley Toller, III looked mortified enough, and I believe if a sword had been at his disposal he would have thrown himself on it.

***[ ]***

Scotty, on a professional level, would not tolerate condescension or patronizing behavior from his peers. As he was so young, many treated him as some neophyte to the world of music. Scotty, never intentionally cruel, had a way of commanding respect and people soon learned to treat him in such a manner. To the public at large, Scotty kept a low profile. He never lorded over the gentry that he was somebody. He was loved, admired, and respected because he viewed his talent as a gift to be shared, not as something to make him appear better than others. His family instilled this attitude in him—and me—over the years. Brad Toller drove Scotty nuts. He had begun to hang around us more and more. He got a thrill being a part of Scotty’s inner circle—Scotty didn’t know he had one—and led people to believe they were bosom buddies.

On one occasion after we trounced an opposing wrestling team, reputed to be tough, a few of us decided to go out and celebrate our victory. Scotty had gone on ahead to try to secure a table for us. When we arrived Scotty was sitting in the waiting area and told us it would be about 15 minutes until our table would be ready. Brad thought this was ridiculous and went up to the hostess and loudly proclaimed, “Do you know who that is over there?” pointing to Scotty. “That’s Scott Tucker and he happens to be one of the best musicians you will ever be fortunate enough to have in this dinky establishment. I would think someone of his stature shouldn’t have to wait for a damn table.”

Scotty was fuming. And it took a lot for Scotty to fume. He was used to fame. He was used to fawning and doting fans. He was used to people in awe of his talents. What he could not and would not tolerate is someone using his status as an ego trip because of their association with him. Brad may very well have been in awe of Scotty’s talent, but his outburst wasn’t for Scotty. It was, ‘look who I’m with.’ Scotty jumped up from his seat; went over and commanded quietly for Brad to come with him, then grabbed Brad by the elbow and steered him outside. I followed; if Brad decided to get physical, Scotty would be no match. I stayed back a few feet. Scotty glaring at Brad and in a controlled voice, but a no nonsense tone said, “Don’t you ever, ever do something like that again when you are with me. I’ve grown up in this town. I’ve known many of these people all my life and they are quite aware of who I am and don’t need you, with your loud pontificating voice reminding them. I am not better then them because I can play the piano. I’m not better then them because I’ve played Carnegie Hall. And furthermore, I won’t have them believing that I think I am or that I deserve or require special treatment. I will wait my turn for my table just as anyone else has to when they are busy.”

With that, he turned around and went back into the restaurant, leaving one Bradley Toller, III stunned. He talked with Lucy, the hostess, and I’m sure apologized for Brad’s remarks. Lucy smiled and patted Scotty on the shoulder. Brad remained fairly quiet the remainder of the evening. He tried apologizing to Scotty, but he held up his hand, halting the apology and said he owed the apology to Lucy, not him. Ego would not allow him to do that: not to a mere hostess.

Scotty once remarked that Brad technically was a very skilled pianist, but unless he got his ego in check, he would never be great, or good: just technically sound. He was so enthralled with himself and his ability to play well, that his heart and soul never gets to the keyboard, just his skilled fingertips.

Two weeks after the restaurant incident with Brad, I was lying in bed reading. Scotty was in Cincinnati performing. I couldn’t go with him as I had a job on the weekends. My mother stated if I was going to drive, I was going to pay the additional amount that she paid because of my being added to her car insurance policy. She also said I had to pay for my own gas, upkeep, and maintenance. That sounded fair to me—at the time. I didn’t realize the expense and perhaps should have negotiated with her instead of agreeing so readily; oh well, an anxious teenager’s hindsight. It was getting on to 10:00 o’clock when the phone rang. I couldn’t imagine who it could possibly be, but my immediate thoughts were: My mom checking in; Scotty checking in; something happened to my mom; something happened to Scotty. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God you’re home,” came a voice of relief. “Hi, Sebastian, this is Stan, Stan Polanski at the shelter. I have someone here, a Christopher Kreider; he says you know him and gave me permission to call you. He’s in pretty bad shape and I don’t think he’s telling me everything. I’m stretching the rules a little here, so do you think you could come down? And do you think you could bring Mr. Tucker with you?”

“Uh, sure, sure I’ll come, but which one?”

“Which one what?” Stan queried.

“Which, Mr. Tucker?” I responded.

“The cop,” he replied.